


Also, Here's My Address (The Between Me and You Remix)

by daroh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - School, Drunken Kissing, Friends who Kiss, M/M, Sober kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroh/pseuds/daroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the first day of Merlin’s last year at school—the year he’d been dreading for as long as he could remember. Arthur had left for uni, their inseparability now a matter of history. Everyone knew you never really stayed friends with people back at home, no matter how much you meant to.</p><p>Arthur had laughed that worry off—"Oh please, as if I could be rid of you that easily"—but losing Arthur may prove easier than Merlin even feared possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Also, Here's My Address (The Between Me and You Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beccadearie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccadearie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Between Me and You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424479) by [beccadearie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beccadearie/pseuds/beccadearie). 



> A/N: This fic elaborates on what happens in the time surrounding just two of the 13 notes (though I swear it was 14 at one point!) in the original fic, so it only "remixes" a small portion of it. Beccadearie's original covers many years in the boys' lives; this is just a few months. I wish I could have done it all, but what I most hope is that you, becca, are happy with what I've tried to do based on your incredible epistolary narrative! 
> 
> Thank you so much to beccadearie for having so many amazing works for me to discover and choose from! Endless thanks and hugs to the people who helped me so much with beta'ing and Britpicking and cheerleading and support! Ye shall be named post-reveal! 
> 
> Thanks to the mods, too, for doing this incredible service and keeping the remix alive!

—1—

“So, Pendragonless at last, eh?" Will said, sidling up to Merlin at his locker.

“Hello, Will.” Merlin shoved some books in his bag and shut the slim metal door.

“Aw, Merls, you’ll be fine, you’ll see. After just a few days with me and Freya, you’ll wonder why you hid in that arsehole’s shadow all those years.”

“I’ve always spent time with you and Freya, Will.”

“Yeah, but now you won’t have lame excuses to ditch us at lunch. I’m telling you, Upper Sixth will be your best year yet.”

“I don’t doubt it, Will,” Merlin said, finally turning to face his friend. “Where you off to? I’ve got English.”

“Technically I’ve got Maths, but I’m pretending I’m still figuring out my timetable, so I’ll be outside for the rest of the day. Find me on your free!”

Merlin shook his head and made his way down the hall. At least English class was first, and that was his favourite. He needed a better distraction from his thoughts than Will’s delinquency.

It was the first day of his last year—the year he’d been dreading for as long as he could remember. Arthur had left for uni, their inseparability now a matter of history. Everyone knew you never really stayed friends with people back at home, no matter how much you meant to.

Arthur had laughed that worry off. _Oh please, as if I could be rid of you that easily_.

And later, when they’d played their last game of Mario Kart and packed all of Arthur’s things in Uther’s car, Arthur had put his hands on Merlin’s shoulders and looked him square in the eye. _Seriously, mate_ , _don’t be an idiot. You know you’re my only real friend and I couldn’t bear to lose you_.

Merlin had held Arthur’s gaze, not quite believing he could say something so earnest. _Really?_ he’d ventured.

 _No!_ Arthur’d mocked, ruffling Merlin’s hair. _Everyone loves me! I’ve got loads of friends!_ He’d pulled him into a headlock and held him tightly to his chest. Merlin felt a little better, hugging Arthur more than trying to free himself.

 _Besides_ , Arthur’d added, whispering just behind Merlin’s ear, _it’s only for a year. You’re going to Camelot next year, whether you like it or not_.

Typical Arthur, just assuming Merlin would follow him. And of course, he probably would.

But Merlin wasn’t as sure as Arthur that their friendship wouldn’t change, because it mattered more to him than to Arthur. Merlin wasn’t the one moving forward; he was the one getting left behind. Plus, Arthur would be sought after no matter where he was. He was smart, athletic, and outgoing, not to mention gorgeous. If Merlin had been the one to leave for uni first, there would have been little risk. He had become popular merely by association. People used to joke that Arthur’s last name was “Andmerlin.” If the situation were reversed, Merlin probably would have deferred uni for a year just so they could go together, but he wouldn’t have wanted Arthur to do that, and he doubted Arthur had even thought of it.

Merlin walked into his English lesson and found a seat against the far wall. He bowed his head low to avoid conversation with anyone else, doodling triangles in his notebook until the lecture began.

                                                                                                    ***

After an endless day at school and hanging out with Will for long enough not to seem pathetic, Merlin headed home. How he was supposed to get through a whole year without Arthur, he didn’t know. He ached for him already, and not just because they were best mates. Arthur was everything. Too much, really. Merlin’s instinct for self-preservation, however weak, went toward not analysing his feelings for Arthur too closely, but without Arthur around he felt like he had lent someone a lung and had to wait a year to get it back, if he was lucky enough to get it back at all.

He remembered the letter he’d slipped into Arthur’s bag just before he left. Arthur would’ve seen it by now, Merlin was sure, but he had yet to respond. This was hardly surprising, given how much there must be to do as a fresher. The first few weeks usually involved getting smashed stupid and hooking up with god knew who, Merlin thought with vague disgust.

He didn’t want to think about that—about Arthur drunk and flirty, surrounded by uni girls who wanted to sleep with him. Because of course they all would want to—even some of the guys. At least Merlin didn’t have to worry about those, since Arthur was painfully straight (painful for Merlin, that is, until now, when it was a small blessing) and would at least turn down half of Camelot’s population.

Merlin scratched at his scalp vigorously, trying to shake such ridiculousness out of his head. He didn’t need to be tortured by thoughts of Arthur in naked, drunken trysts, but he was still in the mood for a pity party. He deserved that indulgence, because Arthur probably _was_ having a brilliant time, not missing Merlin at all, or perhaps realising for the first time how big a difference one year could make, and how young Merlin really was compared to him. The letter Merlin had slipped in his bag was rather childish, he thought.

He took out a copy of it to make himself feel worse. He had more than one, since he’d written several drafts before getting it right, and then he’d copied it once more.

_Arthur,_

_You probably won’t find this until you get to school. (At least I hope you don’t, you massive wanker.) But it’s just a reminder to you when you’re off at uni parties to not forget me, your poor friend a year behind you. Also, here’s my address. Please write me. Or email. Facebook? Something. Just so I know you’re still alive. You ~~can’t~~ can tell me about all the dirty secrets of uni! It’s going to be really boring here without you, so, yeah._

_Don’t forget me._

— _Merlin_

Even after all those drafts, his brain had still insisted on the “can’t” that he’d had to correct. He didn’t want to hear about Arthur’s “dirty secrets of uni.” But he did, of course; was aching to know. And Arthur would want to talk about the parties and the girls he was meeting. That is, if Arthur ever called him again.

He heard from Arthur a lot, just usually in brief, exuberant text messages.

“ _Merlin, bloody hell! Can’t believe what we’ve been missing!_ ”

“ _Total jackpot on the flatmates! Elyan and Lance are brilliant!”_

_“Best footie practice ever! You need to come to a match!”_

_“Gwaine’s trying to get us expelled—you need to visit before he succeeds!"_

_I bet_ , Merlin thought. He put his mobile away after another update from Arthur—” _2 for 1 @ the pub_ — _ofc Gwaine drinks free._ ” Arthur chronically only had a second to spare, which was maybe a good thing. Merlin was dreading the hypothetical moment when Arthur would ask what was going on in Merlin’s life. The prat had been gone several weeks already, and he still hadn’t asked anything beyond the cursory basics. Once in a while, Merlin had tried to tell him funny stories about Will getting thrown out of PE class, or Elena’s hair turning a mildew-green instead of lighter blonde after she’d tried to make her own dye. But Arthur had always cut him off, with his “Merlin, I’m sorry, mate, but I’ve gotta run to practice.” Or “get to class.” Or “meet the fellas.” Or _whatever_. Merlin supposed he was glad he never mentioned any dates, let alone the _orgies_ he was sure Arthur was having, but it still hurt that Arthur didn’t even realise he had no idea what was going on in Merlin’s life. He might be bloody miserable at sixth form, for all Arthur knew.

He knew Arthur could easily imagine Merlin’s life, of course; he’d been in his place just a year before, minus the gaping hole in his life, but he didn’t know the day-to-day nonsense, and somehow that mattered more than anything now. So much of their time over the years had been spent sharing the minutest trivia, the meaningless amusements of the day, and now it was the universal “I’m good” that Arthur was getting, and the worst part was that he seemed satisfied with it.

Arthur had already left him, even though he still got in touch a lot, however briefly. Sixth form was definitely not going to be easy.

 

—2—

“Merls! Buddy! Despite my best efforts, you’re still glum as a legless puppy. What’ll cheer you up, mate? I’m ready for anything.”

Will had caught Merlin eating lunch alone, reading Sylvia Plath ahead of his next English lesson. Perhaps he should start putting depressing poetry by famous suicides inside comic book covers.

“I’m fine, Will,” Merlin sighed. “You’re just catching me while I try to choke down the school’s excuse for a sandwich and read about having Hitler for a father.”

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Will said, drawing out the sound and smiling wide. “You put on a brave face, my friend, but you had this look about you at Freya’s party last week, too. Not even free booze and that new blue-eyed bloke flirting with you shamelessly could coax a smile out of you.”

Merlin’s mind drifted back to the party. He remembered his discomfort at the newfound attention. “Will, he’s like...fifteen,” he protested.

Will frowned. “Maybe a young sixteen.”

“He looks twelve.”

“Well, you’ll have that in common, then!” Will cheered, his hands opening wide in revelation. “But seriously, so what? A snog or two would be good for you! And he looked more than willing to help you forget your troubles, one way or another.” Will added a wink, as if anyone would miss the innuendo in almost all of his sentences, let alone that one.

“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind,” Merlin said, by which he meant he’d shove it as far from his thoughts as possible. He was busy enough dealing with Arthur’s absence, keeping up with lessons and university applications, and pretending to be his normal self. He didn’t need to add Will’s matchmaking to his worries.

“All right, all right,” Will said. “But at least think about it. I can easily arrange a hook-up for you. In fact, I’ll probably do that anyway.” Will looked him over and added, “You need it,” another half-frown wrinkling his face.

“You’re one to talk,” Merlin barked back, emotion in his voice for the first time. “When was the last time you hooked up?”

“I’ve been getting plenty ever since Elena started looking less like Kate Moss and more like just moss!”

Merlin shook his head, his shoulders returning to their slouch. “Wonderful. I’m glad you meet the standards of a decent person when her self-esteem is at its lowest. Must be encouraging for you.”

“Hey, she’s been making eyes at me since long before her hair looked like wet spinach. Besides, the dye’ll wash out soon, and then she’ll once again be the hottest blonde at school since your princess left.”

Merlin’s lips tightened. “Funny, Will. I didn’t think he was your type.”

“Oh, he’s not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know when half the school’s arse over tit for someone.”

 _Thanks, Will, again,_ Merlin thought. He’d been trying not to focus on everyone falling all over Arthur at Camelot. The girls would look great and be older by just enough to own their looks, not seem like they stumbled into them one day—or out of them, as Elena might feel she had, if she was putting up with the likes of Will. Merlin would have to talk to her about that. Besides, he thought the green looked pretty cool, actually.

Merlin’s silence must’ve held some meaning for Will, because he patted his friend on the back and got up from the table. “All right,” he said, “I’ll leave you and Sylvia to mope, but there’s going to be another party at Freya’s tomorrow night, and I’m dragging you there myself if I have to. Something tells me that Mordred will be there in his best skinny jeans.”

Merlin shook his head in defeat. “Fine, Will. Tomorrow night. I’m all yours.”

“Or Mordred’s, if I have my way. Anyway, I’m off. Can’t be too late for psychology, can we?” Mischief was in Will’s smile, and Merlin chuckled in disbelief. Doubtless there was some story behind that look, but Merlin would have to wait to hear it. At least that tale would be something to look forward to, since he dreaded most aspects of the party deeply.

Freya’s parties were fun, if you wanted to have some, but Merlin wasn’t in the mood, and he definitely wasn’t in the mood to flirt with a mooning first year—someone who hadn’t even known Merlin the year before, when he was fun and funny and more worth knowing.

He studied the cover of his poetry book. Plath was great but really not helping his mood.

Why not do something with his free time that he was used to doing, even if Arthur wasn’t around to make him do it? It couldn’t hurt.

“Fancy a footie match, Syl?” he asked the poet’s picture on the back of the book. He decided he would go to the game later that day. He had made a big show to Arthur of what a relief it would be not to have to attend any sporting events all year, but Arthur didn’t need to know that Merlin was going. He didn’t even know that Merlin needed to go; that’s how much Arthur had cared to talk to him.

***

When he left his class that afternoon, he felt a little self-conscious walking to the field, but also warm and vaguely happy. He felt like he was going to see Arthur play, and though that obviously wasn’t true—Arthur had even just texted, “ _Exam sucked. Napping till summer”_ —he still tingled with anticipation. _I’m like Pavlov’s bloody dogs,_ he thought, _but I don’t even care_.

He took a seat in the stands and gazed at the players as they warmed up, some stretching, some kicking a ball around, all looking fit and sun-loving and ready to get sweaty. Footie matches did have their upside.

He knew more about the game than he’d ever let on to Arthur, and he realised that it would be interesting to see how the team had changed to compensate for the loss of stars like Arthur and Kay, and to integrate the new ones. He felt stupid for thinking he’d never go to a game again, just because Arthur wasn’t around. Maybe he hadn’t been going to them just for that prat, after all.

Of course, he still let himself pretend Arthur was somewhere on the field, or maybe just late to the match. He wanted to hold onto this feeling of contentment, even if doing so involved minor delusion. He leaned back and let his body relax in a way it hadn’t in weeks. He thought about taking a picture and texting it to Arthur, who would love to see the pitch, but he decided it was safest not to.

The sounds of the game, once it started—whistles blowing, boys running, the fans cheering for one school or the other—invited his mind to wander the way it usually did at these things, and he took his notebook out of his bag, feeling like he might jot down a couplet or two. The breeze felt good on his face, and he was at home in his skin again.

“Merlin,” he heard a pleasant voice say, calling him out of his reverie. It was a girl he knew from French class.

“Hi, Gwen. How are you?”

“I’m good. Just enjoying the day out here.” She looked around a little awkwardly, loose ringlets of her hair floating on the breeze. “I like watching the matches.”

Merlin chuckled. “I’d be willing to bet that’s why a lot of people are here.”

Gwen smirked, appreciating his sarcasm. “No, I mean, I don’t exactly live and die for them,” she said. “I just like the atmosphere. Plus, it’s something to do.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he answered, eyeing his pencil and old notebook. “You here with anyone?”

“Not really. I thought I might sit by you, if you don’t mind?”

He moved over and she sat down on the bench, pulling a water bottle out of the bag she set by her feet. Gwen was very pretty, with deep, calming brown eyes. Her presence was comforting to Merlin, even though he didn’t know her well.

They watched the game, chatted about classes, and had a riveting debate over who should win Best Arse on the Pitch. Merlin had even talked with her about Arthur, whom she remembered watching play the previous year.

After the match (their school had won; they usually did), they discovered they walked home in the same direction, and they agreed to go to the next game together.

“Remember, the B.A.P. can’t be awarded without you,” she’d called out to him as they parted ways.

“No, it _cannot_ ,” he’d shouted through a wide grin. “And the same goes for you!” He smiled the rest of the way home, regretting only that he hadn’t thought to attend the first two matches of the term.

***

That night, Merlin was feeling better about life than he had in a while. He’d had fun and felt sure that Gwen would prove to be a good friend. He was already hoping that she might want to go to Camelot U as well—not that he’d decided on going there himself yet.

He had to ruin his good mood, though, with a phone call to Arthur.

He selected “Favourites” on his mobile and pressed the only name there: “Prat.” Sometimes he changed it to “Arthur,” but not in the weeks since he’d left. He felt a little bad about that now.

The phone rang four times and was about to go to voicemail when Arthur answered.

“Merlin!” Arthur said too loudly, catching his breath.

“Yeah. Is it a bad time?”

“A bad time? Never! I was just...”

“ _Just about to put your shirt on, Arthur!_ ”he heard a feminine voice yell in the background.“ _Mithian’s on her way over. She’s going to walk with us to the pub!_ ”

He swallowed hard, trying to think of what to say to a naked Arthur with a girl in his room. Why had Arthur answered the call? _Prat!_

“Still need help dressing, it sounds like,” Merlin decided on, trying to make his voice light. Calling Arthur had been stupid. So very stupid.

“Ha ha. Yes, well,” Arthur said in his most arrogant voice. “Vivian can hardly be called a help. She’s actually a supremely annoying hindrance to everything I need to do!”

The laughter in Arthur’s voice was oddly a relief to Merlin, since it meant he was far too preoccupied with teasing Vivian in bed to notice anything about Merlin’s reactions. He’d probably forget he was even on the phone in a minute.

“ _I can hear you, Arthur!_ ” Vivian said _. “And the only thing I’m hindering is your ability to horrify Mithian with your furry man-chest. Now put your shirt on!”_

“Oi!” Arthur yelped, his high pitch hurting Merlin’s ear. “Well, you don’t have to throw it at me!”

After a minute’s rustling, Arthur more calmly added, “Hold on, Merlin.”

“No, wait—don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll catch you some other time. I only had a minute myself.”

“Nonsense, Merlin, we haven’t talked in ages! And Vivian can go meet her friend without m— _Ouch!_ Okay, okay, maybe not. And here I was just about to thank you for saving me from— _Ah!_ ”

Arthur’s own laughter, sudden and roaring, but distant this time, as if he’d put down his phone, cut off his speech. Merlin listened with sickness growing in his stomach.

Merlin was done trying to hide his disgust. “Alright, Arthur, I’ve got to go.”

“Okay, Merlin, I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow! Vivian, say good-bye to Merlin!” He was still laughing through his words.

 _“Good-bye to Merlin,”_ she said rudely, and the line cut off.

 

—3—

Friday, Merlin was out of temper. His teachers noticed, but everyone was allowed a day now and then to be in a foul mood. English had started things off as badly as possible, since it was the day to discuss Plath, and Merlin was barely listening. He had weeks’ worth of notes and analyses of her poems, but instead he looked like someone who hadn’t even read the book. He couldn’t be bothered to care, though. He knew he knew the poetry better than anyone else in the class, and he just wanted the day to end so he could drink himself into a stupor at Freya’s.

Before the last period, Merlin spotted Will by his locker. He went up to him hastily and said, “You ready to go?”

“Me, mate? Don’t you have one more class?”

“Yeah, but it’s just PE. The teacher thinks I should be tested for a tapeworm or rickets or something anyway. I’ll tell him I fell over in a breeze and couldn’t make it. C’mon, let’s go.”

Will shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me twice!”

On the way to Freya’s they stopped at Will’s, where there was a healthy supply of booze. They grabbed a few bottles, then shoved a few more in their book bags. Merlin was hungry, but he didn’t want to take more than the booze from Will’s house, since the fridge was never well stocked. He figured he’d get something at Freya’s later, or maybe on the way. Before they even left, though, he unscrewed the whiskey bottle and took a dramatic swig. It only took a second for the inevitable shudder-and-wince to hit him.

“That good a day, huh?” Will said.

“Shut up, Will. Either take a swig or don’t.”

“You don’t have to—”

“—tell you twice, I know. Just take it.”

“Sheesh. Calm your tits, Emrys. Did you eat lunch?”

Merlin’s glare was answer enough, and they headed out.

Freya’s parents were almost never around, and the house was basically hers to do with whatever she would. Freya wasn’t home when they got there, so they sat on her doorstep and kept drinking. They’d bought a bag of crisps along the way, and Will had some cigarettes. They were being regular delinquents, Merlin thought, and it made him feel good to be acting out. Maybe this was the new Merlin: whiskey-headed class-skipper, bad boy of the Upper Sixth. _Bad boy of the Upper Sixth_ , he thought again with swelling pride.

“Oh yeah?” Will laughed, apparently in response. “I’m sure Glisson Street is really shaking in its boots at ‘bad boy Merlin’ coughing through second-hand smoke on a Friday afternoon. ‘ _Oh, no!_ ’” he went on in high-pitched mockery. “‘ _It’s Upper Sixth Merlin! What will we do? Ruuun!!!_ ’”

Merlin’s anger at being ridiculed quickly turned to howling, side-clutching laughter. He and Will were holding onto each other, barely able to breathe through their hysterics when Freya showed up.

“Upper Sixth Merlin! U-S-M in the _houuse_!” Merlin chanted to her, offering the half-empty bottle.

“Not yet, you’re not,” Freya said. “You mind keeping it down, superhero? I have to live on this block.”

“Sure thing, Freya... _U-S-F_ ,” Merlin added with a giggle. He looked up at her through widened eyes, trying for his best lost-puppy look.

Freya had always had a soft spot for Merlin. They’d known each other since they were little, when Hunith used to invite Freya over as much as Merlin did. Freya wouldn’t turn him away now, even though he was already lying drunk on her doorstep like a vagrant and the party hadn’t even begun.

Why hadn’t he hung out with her more these last few years, he wondered? “Stupid Arthur, _”_ he said, without meaning to.

“Oh brother,” Freya moaned. “Get in there and have a sandwich. Will, aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him? Usually that means not filling him up with a fifth of whiskey.”

Will shrugged innocently and smiled at her meekly. Then he clapped his hands as if that settled it. “Ah,” he said. “He was drinking it with or without me. Better with, yeah? Now, how about those sandwiches!”

***

Over the next few hours, Freya pushed water and food on Merlin while he attempted to help her set up. Mostly he was just told to sit down and stop spilling things, so he took breaks in the living room now and then with the whiskey bottle he’d swiped from the kitchen. He knew enough to slow his drinking way down, though, and he even let himself doze a little here and there.

He slept more than he meant to, it seemed, because when he woke up, the house was full of college students and some neighbourhood kids, too. It wasn’t a wild party—people were used to just hanging out at Freya’s with music, card games, beer, the usual—but it was busy enough that Merlin felt relieved not to be anyone’s focus of attention.

He washed himself up a bit in the loo, then went out into the kitchen.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” Elena said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “How are we feeling?”

“Oh, fantastic. Top of the world,” Merlin drawled, stretching his arms over his head as he spoke. Elena tickled the fur on his stomach as his shirt rode up, and his arms flew down in a flash for protection, but he was laughing from the tickle.

“Hey! I’m not awake enough for that, Ms. Handsy!”

“You love it,” Elena said, laughing with him. She reached out to scratch his stomach again, this time through his t-shirt.

“Who’s tickling Merlin again?” Will said. “Not a bright idea tonight. The man’s been plied with more whiskey and ham sandwiches than I care to see on Freya’s carpet.”

“Ohhh.” Elena stepped back. “That bad, huh?”

Merlin quirked an eyebrow at her, as if the contortion of his face would answer her question. Realising he wanted to keep drinking, though, he said, “Nah, not as all that.”

He made his way to the fridge and took out a beer, then walked towards the living room where he remembered being so comfortable.

When he went passed Elena, though, he took a few steps back. He put a hand on her shoulder and said, “By the way, I think the green looks amazing. I think you should even keep it this way.” He stared at her for a minute more, taking in the difference in her appearance. She looked freer than last year, happier, more confident even, and the sight struck him as the most beautiful he’d seen in a while. He kissed her on the cheek, then let a wide grin spread across his face.

“Merlin, you goof,” she said fondly. “Thank you. Now go find a seat before Freya makes us follow you around with a bucket.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Merlin saluted, and stumbled away.

***

He propped himself up in the corner of the sofa. The living room was quieter than some other parts of the house, and he felt his body settle into calmness. The music reached him distantly, and he let its gentle rhythm lull him once again. He focused on the warm feeling in his veins that the alcohol had given him.

When his mobile buzzed, he didn’t even flinch. The name "Prat" on the screen didn’t even affect him. He opened the message, not caring much what Arthur had to say.

_"Sorry about yesterday. Catch up this weekend?"_

A flippant apology. _Figures_ , Merlin thought. Maybe he did care what Arthur had to say, since it revived his anger. “Fucking prat.”

“Pardon?” he heard a boyish voice ask.

Merlin looked up. It was Mordred: lean, fit, and clad in a very flattering pair of skinny jeans and tight black t-shirt. Merlin looked at him for a while before answering. His hair was definitely ruffle-worthy, and his eyes were brilliantly blue.

Mordred blushed slightly, chewing a corner of his lip. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry or anything. I mean, assuming you weren’t calling me a prat.”

Merlin smiled at the notion. “Oh, no. Just mad at someone. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I kinda figured,” Mordred said, sitting himself down on the sofa sideways, facing Merlin, one leg tucked under him. He kept a bit of a distance between them, but his posture made it clear that Merlin was the only thing he wanted to pay attention to. Merlin raised an eyebrow as he followed Mordred’s movements.

“Sorry, do you mind?” Mordred asked as a smile, somehow both shy and open, flitted across his face. He was nervous, but not painfully so—not the way Merlin would have been in his shoes.

Merlin looked back down at his mobile. He noticed his beer resting against his thigh, too, and decided that Arthur didn’t deserve to have his “Sorry” answered just yet, and that Merlin did deserve to get more drunk and have someone as attractive and _present_ as Mordred make eyes at him for a while.

“No, I don’t mind,” Merlin said. “I was wondering if you’d come.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that.

“Really?” Mordred’s smile widened and he took a sip of his own beer, leaning against the back of the sofa with relief. “I can’t imagine missing it.” He let his gaze hold Merlin’s for a while. He could alternate between bold and shy in a heartbeat.

It had the effect of being disarming and then catching you off guard a second later. Merlin wasn’t sure what he thought of it, but he liked Mordred’s eyes and his smile a lot. He stared back, but with less friendliness than Mordred displayed. Mordred was new, green, and shouldn’t be challenging Merlin to a staring contest.

“Seems like Freya’s parties are always good,” Mordred went on, finally shifting his gaze. “I doubt I’ll miss one, but of course the year is young.”

“The year isn’t the only thing,” Merlin said, maintaining his focus on Mordred, wanting to remind him that Merlin was older, somehow better, more rightfully entitled to the sofa.

Mordred’s face fell, and Merlin instantly regretted the comment. What was he doing?

“I mean we all are. Young, that is, even if we don’t feel it. I’m sure in a year—or two, I guess”—he added with sensitivity, he hoped, to Mordred’s being a year behind him—”we’ll find it hard to believe how young we are right now.”

Merlin didn’t know why he’d said that either. Mordred seemed equally unsure.

“True,” Mordred responded, weighing his words, “but we can’t live our lives in fear of how our older selves will judge us. Unless that’s not really what you mean.”

Mordred’s eyes were serious, searching. He was smarter, his personality more nuanced, than Merlin had given him credit for—and of course he was, since Merlin had thought of him merely as some schoolboy with a senseless crush. Merlin shook his head at himself, drank the rest of his beer, and set the empty bottle down on the table beside him.

“I don’t know what I mean, to tell you the truth,” he said. “Why don’t we talk about something else? How do you know Freya?”

Their conversation flowed much more easily after that, and Merlin barely noticed that he’d not only finished the next beer that Will had brought him, but also two more (between bathroom breaks) while they talked and joked and became more comfortable with each other.

Before long, Mordred was sitting much closer to Merlin, and he let his fingers brush against Merlin’s thigh once in a while, as if by accident, unless Merlin wanted to treat it like it wasn’t. The hints of intimacy added tension to the conversation, keeping Merlin aware that Mordred liked looking at Merlin’s lips, that he was sitting in a position that invited Merlin into his space, and that he probably wanted Merlin to kiss him.

Merlin felt addicted to the attention. He liked that someone as hot and interesting and _here_ as Mordred was wanted to be with him, to know him, to kiss him. He was even letting Merlin set the pace—that’s how much Mordred wanted Merlin to like him.

Merlin decided flirting was definitely a good distraction.

After they had compared opinions on songs that played, books they’d read, subjects they were taking, there was finally a lull, and Mordred braved a question.

“So, who was the prat?” He made his eyes soft and waited for an answer.

“What?” Merlin said, knowing full well what Mordred meant but not knowing what he should say in response. “Erm, just someone with a total lack of social skills.”

Mordred nodded, his gaze darting away as he thought about Merlin’s answer. “Sorry,” he said, returning to the conversation. “I guess that was a crap way of asking if you were…”

“If I was what?” Merlin’s brow furrowed.

“If you were seeing anyone.”

“Oh.” Merlin shook his head and smiled at Mordred. He knew this was the moment to truth: give in to his current desire, because he definitely wanted a snog, or be noble and tell Mordred he wasn’t really interested, because he’d definitely regret the snog later.

But sitting there, with the music playing, and the chemistry between them, and his mind still buzzing from the alcohol, he wanted it. What was so bad about a hook-up, anyway? Arthur had already been with at least “Vivian” at uni. It wasn’t a competition, but he needed to feel like he had his own life, his own likes. And he did like Mordred. He did. And it wasn’t just his cock that said so.

Mordred waited, gazing at Merlin’s mouth, his hair, his hands, then finally back to his eyes. Merlin was still smiling shyly, his lips red and slightly parted. He blinked his eyes slowly, tempting Mordred further, but still unwilling to initiate the kiss himself.

It worked. Mordred leaned forward, bringing their foreheads together, giving Merlin the chance to move away if he wanted to, to react to the intention however he wished, but Merlin stayed where he was. His eyes appreciated Mordred’s skin and eyes and mouth. He touched a hand to Mordred’s hair, wanting to feel the shiny curls in his fingers. Mordred’s breath caught, and he tilted his head, kissing Merlin eagerly, knocking their teeth together. They laughed, and Merlin put his hands behind Mordred’s head properly.

Merlin leaned into the kiss this time, and it was much nicer. It was more than nice; it was warm and wet and slightly sweet, with the beer’s flavour lingering slightly in their mouths. The music had become something perfectly suited to slow late-night kisses. There were people strewn on various surfaces in the rooms of Freya’s house, some still laughing and talking in the kitchen. The sounds, the slight haze of cigarette smoke in the air, the low lights and music, the feel of Mordred’s warm, lithe body in his arms—that was all Merlin wanted in that moment.

Merlin sat kissing Mordred open-mouthed for a long time, lusting, letting his hands wander over long limbs and warm, smooth skin beneath Mordred’s t-shirt. Mordred hummed through some of Merlin’s kisses, which Merlin hadn’t even known was a thing, much less a thing that drove him a little crazy.

He pressed Mordred onto his back and laid himself over him, letting his hand drift over Mordred’s jeans to make sure he was just as hard as Merlin was, and aching for friction.

He felt the relief and the thrill of his own cock pressing against Mordred’s thigh as he moved on top of him, and his breath caught at the sensation. He looked at Mordred, who stared back at him through blown pupils, his body tense beneath his touch, and he finally aligned himself for a kiss. He pressed the lengths of their bodies together, kissing deeply into Mordred’s mouth, fisting the black locks of hair that felt like heaven in his fingers.

Their grinding had been increasing its force and rhythm when Merlin shifted to catch his breath and caught sight of Will and Elena. They were watching them. Will gave him a big thumbs-up, but Elena had politely turned away.

He stopped dead. He hadn’t meant to be making such a display of it. He looked around the room and noticed one or two other couples snogging, but lazily, between bits of conversation.

“Merlin?” Mordred said, barely audibly.

Merlin looked down at the boy he’d been dry humping in plain view for the last who knew how long.

He felt a flush race up his neck and across his cheeks. He thought he might never be able to speak again. He quickly pushed himself up and over to the other side of the couch, wishing he could vanish into the cushions.

Mordred sat up and stared at him, wrecked and confused. He never looked around the room, only at Merlin.

“Sorry,” Merlin finally said. He knew no one was paying attention to them now that no one’s clothes were coming off, if anyone other than Will had even been paying attention in the first place.

“It’s okay,” Mordred said. “Did you want to go somewhere else?”

Merlin thought about it. He had wanted to get off so badly, so much more than anything just a minute before, but now he felt confused and angry, and like he might need a piss.

“Yeah, the loo,” he said, and he got up and left. Mordred knew enough not to follow.

When Merlin came back fifteen minutes later, the sofa was empty, and Merlin collapsed on it facedown and went to sleep.

***

Will and Elena woke Merlin up in the morning with coffee and croissants.

“So, loverboy,” Will said, “how’s the hangover?”

“Nnnnn,” Merlin groaned into the sofa, his limbs aching and his head pounding. His mouth felt like an empty sandbox. He was afraid to even try to talk.

“Yeah, we thought so,” Elena said, petting his head. “We’ve got a bottle of water for you, some paracetamol, coffee, and an egg sandwich.”

“And doughnuts,” Will added through a mouthful of pastry, sugar dusting his lips already.

“And doughnuts,” Elena added, shoving at Will playfully.

“So, you two are really a thing now?” Merlin said, his eyes fighting to stay open in spite of the light.

“It seems so, Merls! I told ya! I’m special stuff.”

“He _thinks_ he’s special stuff,” Elena said.

“I’m funny!”

“Yeah, but looks aren’t everything, Will!” she said, pushing him again as she laughed at her insult.

He gasped, pretending to be offended. “You love my looks! You said I had a ‘diamond in the rough’ quality.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Merlin interrupted, sitting up now. “Congratulations. Coffee?”

Elena handed the cup to him and watched him take a sip.

“We won’t ask why Mordred left in the middle of the night,” Will said, “but at least try to tell him it’s not him, it’s you.”

“Since when do you care, Will?”

“Since when do you send drunk puppies out into the night to walk home alone?”

“I didn’t tell him to leave!”

“Well, you certainly didn’t ask him to stay,” Will said.

They gave Merlin a pitying a look and left him to drink his coffee.

***

When he got home, he showered and lay on his bed. The food, water, and clean clothes only made his conscience feel worse. It was true that Mordred was much more interesting than he had imagined even a day earlier, but he still didn’t want to date the guy. He remembered how great it had felt to kiss him, but he knew that he wouldn’t have done it sober. He’d used Mordred, and he’d been fine with that for a night. He didn’t like that that was in him. He wouldn’t have guessed it, and he thought that maybe he could understand more of Arthur’s hook-ups now, although Arthur didn’t seem too remorseful. Maybe he was, though. It’s not like Arthur would’ve become a total tool overnight. Maybe that was why he’d wanted to talk this weekend.

Merlin really wanted to talk, too. He needed to tell Arthur what had happened. He needed advice, and for Arthur to make him feel better. This was what friends did for each other.

He picked up his mobile and called. Middle of a Saturday. Maybe Arthur’d be around to talk. Merlin really, really hoped so.

The call went to voicemail, though, and Merlin couldn’t think of a message that would cover it, so he hung up.

 

—4—

Merlin stayed home Saturday night, hoping he’d never actually have to leave the house again. When he laid down on the couch after dinner, his mum came in.

“Want to watch a film, love?”

He looked up at her. She would never pry, but it was clear she could see he was miserable.

“Sure,” he said, trying to seem interested.

She picked up the remote when Merlin didn’t and flipped through the channels. “ _Avengers_?” she asked. She knew Merlin liked the Marvel films.

“ _No_ ,” he replied, with too much bark in his voice. He didn’t mean to be ornery and cruel, and certainly not to her. “Sorry,” he added quietly. “Not in the mood.” He and Arthur loved the Marvel films. He wanted to watch something with no Arthur connotations at all.

“Don’t you need to catch up on _Downton Abbey_ , Mum?”

Hunith was dubious. “You want to watch _Downton Abbey_?”

“Why not?” He pulled the folded blanket off the back cushion and stretched out under it, ready for a few hours of mindless telly. He wanted to feel like he was a kid again, safe at home with his mum on a rainy night. It was starting to work, too, as he let the slow-paced drama drift in and out of his mind, lulling him to sleep.

Another episode must’ve begun by the time his mobile woke him up. He could tell that several servants had been assigned new positions in the household, but he didn’t really know why.

He let his phone buzz a second time, afraid to check the message. It could be any number of people he didn’t want to talk to: Will, Elena, or Freya asking if he was still being a dick. Mordred, god forbid, asking why he had been such a dick, or worse, pretending everything was fine. Or, it could be the fresher prat himself, saying who knows what—something wonderful or something awful, but either way, something that would make him angry. Merlin didn’t want to know.

The phone buzzed two more times.

“How’s Arthur?” his mum asked, a gentle teasing in her voice.

Merlin glared at her, but not with malice. “Fine, Mum.” He picked up his phone. The messages were from Arthur. Merlin’s relief made him wonder what he would have done if they had been from Mordred. The thought sickened him, so he ignored it.

 _“Merls! U called earlier! Shit! Just saw_ ,” Arthur’s text read.

“Genius,” Merlin huffed. “ _Don’t worry about it_ ,” he typed back.

“ _But that sucks! I wanted to talk._ ”

 _But?_ Merlin wondered, but he didn’t type it. He just waited.

“ _2mrrw? Name the time!_ ”

Merlin looked up at the television. The characters were in the drawing room, feigning polite conversation about the estate. Merlin found it calming.

Arthur was impatient, apparently. “ _Never mind. I’ll just try all morning_. :)”

A smiley face? Maybe he really meant it.

“ _K_ ,” Merlin wrote back, unsure what to think. Another minute passed, and he added, “ _Have a good night_.”

Arthur answered quickly. “ _AS IF. LATER_ ”

And that was that.

Merlin looked back up and felt completely detached from the show he’d been watching with his mum. He didn’t want to leave the room, though. He liked the soft light and the quiet, and the presence of his mother. He made himself look at the screen, but it didn’t help. Arthur was going to call in the morning. Had been intending to call for a while. And he wasn’t having a good night? What was he doing? Why couldn’t he just talk tonight? Shouldn’t he be home on the sofa watching period dramas like everyone else on a Saturday night?

“Merlin?” Hunith said, calling him out of his thoughts. “Do you want to switch to something else? I don’t mind.”

“No, no, this is fine. Sorry. Can you just catch me up, though? Why isn’t Thomas the valet anymore?”

***

Merlin slept heavily that night, exhausted from Friday’s drinking and a day of worrying and feeling sick and lying around the house.

When his mobile rang in the morning, it woke him, and he answered it groggily. He was glad he didn’t have to pretend to have been asleep.

“H’lo?” he mumbled, his mouth not as ready to work yet as his hands.

“Sorry to wake you, mate! You’re always up early, though. What is this, new leaf?”

“Shut up... W’time is it?”

“Nine. I’ve been for a run already. Get your lazy arse up!”

“Why? I can talk without getting up. What’s it to you?”

“Fair point. Maybe I’ll lie down, too. God knows I could use a rest.”

“Busy night?”

“Busy life…” His voice trailed off. Merlin could hear movement and Arthur’s heavy sigh as he got himself comfortable. “Merlin?” he asked, his voice more boyish than before.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry.”

Merlin looked around his dimly lit room, eyeing the well-worn clothes and books covering his chair and desk and dresser. He pulled the quilt up further over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, inviting Arthur to go on. “For?”

Arthur sighed, but there was a hint of his old brattiness to it. “ _For?_ You know what for,” he whined. “Just...the call the other night and everything.”

Merlin couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his lips. “ _Everything_? That ought to cover it. Thanks, mate.”

“You arse,” Arthur laughed. “But yes, I accept your offer to let me off the hook for _everything_. It’s very gracious of you.”

“Prat,” Merlin said, unwilling to let Arthur charm this away.

“There it is!” Arthur sounded really happy to be insulted. “Nobody calls me that here, you know. You’d think I’d be glad to be rid of it, but I kind of miss it.”

“That’s because you know you’re a prat. Hard to believe no one there has noticed.”

“Oh, they’ve noticed, they just call me other things.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what—rude? Self-absorbed? Shallow?”

“Whoa, I said I’m sorry, mate!”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean you’re not those things.”

“All right, all right. I know I’ve been busy, and we haven’t had time to chat, but we’re still best mates. It’s not like anything is different!”

“Arthur, you let your girlfriend hang up on me.”

“What? No! And Viv—Viv’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh, even better! You let some _random_ girl hang up on me.”

“We’d said goodbye, Merlin. Stop being such a girl yourself.”

“Ugh, stop being such a _prick_!”

There was a pause after that, and Merlin wondered if Arthur would give up on making amends. Merlin knew there must be plenty of other things he could be doing on a Sunday morning. The silence was broken, though, by the sound of Arthur stifling a laugh.

Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle when Arthur did. He still had a point to make, though. “Seriously, Arthur, what the hell?”

“I know. I was trying to get an apology in to you, but things just got really busy.”

“Right. All right,” Merlin said, realising they were getting nowhere.

“So why don’t you tell me about Vivian, if she’s not your girlfriend.”

“Well, I suppose she sort of is. But, it’s not like that. I mean, I’m gonna break up with her.”

“Oh, I’ve heard this before. After the wedding, though, right?”

“No, no. This won’t be another Sophia. She already knows I don’t want to be going out with her. It’s not even like I wanted to in the first place. I just sort of...found myself dating her one day.” Arthur’s voice had fallen into something resembling its usual familiarity.

“You _found yourself_ dating her?” Merlin asked, stretching out the words to emphasise their absurdity. “Did some kind of _Freaky Friday_ thing happen to you, and you woke up mid-shag with her?”

“You know it kind of was like that, but not quite that bad. Definitely post-shag, anyway,” Arthur said in weak defence of himself. “She’s been obsessed with us becoming some power couple since I got here. Stupid, I know, but apparently her family has ties to my father’s company. And anyway, she’s just been glued to me the whole time, and her friends get on with my mates, so it’s hard to avoid her, even if I wanted to.”

“‘Even if you wanted to,’” Merlin mocked.

“So,” Arthur went on, ignoring Merlin’s jibe, “one night, we had a few drinks too many, she seemed funnier than usual, more interesting or something...”

“And, let me guess, she’s fit?”

“ _So_ fit, Merlin. I mean, anyone with eyes could see how hot she is, with this long wavy hair and these perfect tits—I mean, firm and round but not too big, you know? And she just presses them against you like—”

“Yeah, I get it, Arthur. And then?”

“And then? I don’t know. It didn’t seem like a big deal. I figured she was around all the time anyway, plus she’s gorgeous. Why not go along with it? But _my god_ was that a mistake. She’s so bossy. And nuts. Well, you know that part. Heard it yourself.”

“I heard _mean_ , Arthur, not nuts.” Merlin wished Arthur would focus more on the meanness than on the “crazy” or the “fit” parts. He definitely didn’t need to hear any more about Vivian’s tits. How would Arthur like to hear about Mordred’s perfect cock (hard and very decently sized, anyway) pressed against him and making him do things he shouldn’t?

“Look,” Arthur continued. “I know this isn’t the kind of cliché mess you’d get yourself into, but it’s what happened. She’s sucking the life out me, and Gwaine just endlessly taunts me with how I’m Vivian’s princess—”

“ _No_ ,” Merlin said, tickled with that news. “Does he? God, Will was really onto something when he coined that!”

“Shut up, Merlin! That’s not even the worst of it!”

“What’s the worst of it? You like being her princess?”

“Ugh, why did I think you could help me, you arse?”

“Because if I’d been there this never would’ve happened in the first place,” Merlin said, thinking back on all the times he’d said to Arthur, “ _Arthur, I don’t think that’s a good idea_ ”—when he wanted another “fling” with Sophia, even though the first one had taken a year and a restraining order to deal with; when he wanted to use Uther’s ID to get into a club; when he wanted to prove he could jump from Merlin’s roof to the neighbour’s without falling to his death; the list went on.

“Exactly! My point exactly,” Arthur agreed. “You need to visit. Then I’d be out of the doghouse for being rubbish with keeping in touch with you, and you could have my love life sorted in an hour!”

“You make me sound like your personal assistant—with a doghouse, I might add!” Of course this was how it was. Arthur wanted him to visit to be his helper and solve his problems, the way he always had.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, irritation in his voice, “How long have we known each other? My personal assistant? If that were true, I wouldn’t have to beg you to visit me. You’d be here already.”

Whatever words Merlin was about to say caught in his throat. If Arthur had his way, Merlin would be there right now. To save him from this Vivian mess, granted, but it was a given. Merlin belonged with him. He smiled and tried for an easy answer. “I don’t know. Sounds like quite a pickle, Arthur.”

“Oh, come on. You said you would visit this term! You’re working on your applications anyway, right? So you should come for a tour if nothing else.”

Merlin sat up, trying to get a handle on the conversation. “So now I’m coming on a university tour, not to clean up the mess you’ve made of your life in two short months.”

“Can’t it be for both?” Arthur asked, his voice going high and a little syrupy at the end. Merlin could never say no to him anyway. Besides, of course he wanted to visit, but he was also terrified of it—of being overwhelmed by Arthur’s new life, of not fitting in, of feeling even further away from him than he did now.

“Maybe just for the tour, princess. You’ve made your bed and all that with your girl troubles.”

“Very nice. You’re going to abandon me in my hour of need? So much for our lifelong friendship ending eighty years sooner than I thought.”

“You think we’ll live to be a hundred?”

“Well, not now, we won’t. Vivian’ll have my bollocks by term break, and my demise will be quick after that. You will, though, Mister ‘My Life is Grand.’”

“Grand? I have A Levels and uni applications and everything else to worry about. Why would it be grand?” Merlin said, genuinely irritated at the presumption, but still not wanting Arthur to know just how much he felt like he was cocking things up. Or maybe he did want him to know. Why didn’t Arthur ask, just once, for some details about his life?

“Oh,” Arthur snickered, “you were born to take A Levels and do university apps. Have you even gone out once this whole term?”

“I have, actually, but...” Merlin said, trying to decide just how much to say. He wanted Arthur to hear the anxiety in his voice and ask him what was wrong, show some hint of concern, but he didn’t.

Instead, Arthur responded with a voice like a ringing bell. “I knew it! See? You’ve got it all managed!”

“Hardly, Arthur,” Merlin said, lowering his voice. “In fact, things haven’t been exactly—”

“Gwaine!” Arthur yelled, clearly not at Merlin. He was back in the realm of his uni friends. “Time for practice already?”

Merlin sighed, a little relieved not to ruin Arthur’s image of him, but not entirely. He wanted to confide in Arthur. This call clearly was over, though.

“Merlin,” Arthur came back, voice joyous, oblivious. “I’ve gotta run. Practice is starting in ten and I didn’t even realise. Thanks for the talk, though. You’re brilliant as ever! And _come visit_!”

“ _Yes, come visit, Merlin! Arthur needs you, and I’m sure I’m really gonna like you_ ,” Gwaine called out. “ _A lot!_ ”

Arthur’s voice got serious. “Don’t listen to Gwaine, he’s a pervert. But seriously. I expect to see you here soon! Plan that trip, Merlin. And bring whoever you want—just come!”

“Yeah, yeah. All right. Bye, prat.”

“ _Bye, Merlin! Can’t wait to meet you!_ ”

“Ignore Gwaine. But bye, Merlin. Text me with the plans.”

 _Ignore Gwaine_ , Merlin wondered, _but not Vivian_? Clearly, Arthur had no idea how things sounded over the phone.

***

Arthur didn’t deserve to know it, but the call made school seem like something Merlin could face Monday. Once he got there, though, he wasn’t so sure.

Will accosted him immediately, like he’d been lying in wait, which he probably had been. “Merlin, you get fantastically pissed and give us some long overdue drama for the year, and then you ignore my messages? What gives? We have so much to hassle you about,” Will said, throwing his arm around Merlin’s shoulder. He walked him over to where Elena and Freya and—of all people—Mordred were hanging out.

“No,” Merlin said, coming to a halt. He spun around and walked the other way. Will ran up to follow.

“Merlin, I’m kinda stating the obvious here, but you seem to need it. That was not so smooth.”

“Well, what the hell, Will? Why would you think I want to see him first thing on a Monday when I’ve been hiding all weekend?”

“No, no, he’s cool, mate. I was trying to tell you, but you were ignoring me as always. We ended up spending Saturday over at Freya’s again, and he’s all right. You’ll like him.”

“I don’t want to like him.”

Will caught something there Merlin didn’t mean to say, and he looked at him askance. “Ah, but it looked the other night like you like him plenty.”

“Shut up, Will. And stop interfering. I’m late for English,” Merlin said, and he stormed off inside the building.

“It’s ten minutes till the bell, you nitwit!” Will called after him.

It didn’t matter. What the hell was he supposed to say to Mordred? And why were his friends, or the people who were supposed to be his friends, on Mordred’s side already? This school was ridiculous. _How_ could it be only Monday?

 

—5—

All week, Merlin kept to himself, avoiding Mordred whenever he saw him, though he had to admit, Mordred wasn’t trying to get his attention. The message must have been loud and clear. He realised the message was largely that he was an arse, but that was fine, so long as the fact that Merlin wasn’t interested was in there, too.

Friday, though, Merlin was surprised when he saw Mordred approaching him. Merlin had been trying to eat his lunch alone as usual. He geared himself up for listening, but not talking. He didn’t know what he would say to the guy.

“Mind if I join you?” Mordred said, gesturing toward the bench opposite. “Just for a minute.”

Merlin’s stomach was heavy with guilt, but he nodded. “Of course.”

“So, I’m just gonna get right to it, yeah? Erm,” Mordred began, his posture straight and voice measured. He held his hands in front of him, clearly needing them to ground his words. He continued, “Obviously, I was interested—in you, I mean—and I can’t say I wouldn’t be again if you ever decided you were, too, but you need to know that I’m really not out to stalk you or anything. You’re an amazing kisser, but somehow I think I’ll manage to pick up the pieces of my life, you know?”

Laughing eyes met Merlin’s. They were even prettier in the daylight, especially with the unnecessary apology in them as he looked at Merlin, trying to assure him. “I’d really hate for things to be weird just because we were drunk and snogged a bit,” he went on.

“Yeah, yeah, totally,” Merlin said. Why was Mordred comforting him about this whole thing? Why was he the one to be pitied?

“All right, cool. So…” Mordred said, waiting for Merlin to give him some sign—to stay for lunch, to leave him alone?

Merlin had no idea what to do. He’d never actually dated anyone, much less dealt with post-hook-up chats. He’d only kissed one bloke besides Mordred, and that hadn’t involved alcohol and exhibitionism, and definitely not looks like Mordred’s. He could like him. Why was he fighting this?

“So, I’ll see you around, yeah?” Merlin said, trying to seem friendly.

“Yeah,” Mordred said, a little surprised. He got up to leave but paused for a second, then gave up. “Bye, Merlin.”

God, he was bad at this. He wondered how Arthur was doing with Vivian. Probably much better. He at least knew how to have relationships, even if ending them wasn’t his strong suit.

 

—6—

It was no surprise that Merlin didn’t really hear from Arthur much in the next two weeks. Despite his pleas for Merlin to visit, he seemed to forget all about him once they were off the phone and he was back to his busy schedule of footie and lectures and his mates and Vivian.

Merlin was trying to be okay with it. He went to three footie matches with Gwen—one at the opponent’s school, even—and tried to focus on his schoolwork and applications. He avoided Will and Mordred and the whole crew, but he couldn’t help that. He wasn’t able to deal with much of anything that involved his feelings, much less his libido. Mordred’s arse in skinny jeans had caught his eye more than once, and he tried not to remember how it felt to be rutting against him, licking hotly into his mouth, those curls in his fingers. Merlin didn’t need to think about any of that.

On a Friday morning, Merlin received an email, of all things, from Arthur, who didn’t normally write anything longer than a text. The content of the message was even more surprising than its format.

 _From:_ [ _apendragon@hotmail.net_ ](mailto:apendragon@hotmail.net)

_To:_ [ _wizardsRcool2@hotmail.net_ ](mailto:wizardsRcool2@hotmail.net)

_Cc:_

_Subject:_

_Merrlin,_

_I went to a party last night and mayyy have played a little too many drinking games. Mayyy have also been dareed to snogg Elyan. May have aCtually scogged Elyan. It may have been verrry nice. Is it always nice to snog blokess? I maay also be slightly pissed. Thought you’d like to know._

_How’re applications going? I still think you should come heree. We could get a flat together. Then you’d be able to annoooy me all the time againn._

_Miss you,_

_Arthur_

Merlin didn’t know what to do with this. Arthur was snogging blokes now? Arthur _liked_ snogging blokes now?? Was Merlin going to have to suffer through hearing him describe the perfect arses and cocks of the guys who got to sleep with him, like he had to hear about Vivian and Sophia and whoever else?

And why was he trying out same-sex kisses in the first place? Who dared him to do it? What else were they doing? Was this Elyan gay? _What the hell was happening??_ Arthur had never mentioned having the slightest interest in men, though he was entirely supportive and unweird when Merlin came out to him.

“ _Is it always nice?_ ” Did he expect an email from Merlin now about man-kisses? What did that even mean? He texted Gwen. She would know what to make of this message. He’d filled her in on the most important details of their friendship over the last few weeks, and she already understood more about it than Will ever seemed to, and he’d been there for most of it.

His mind was reeling. The English lesson was going to be a bust again, as was the rest of the day. Arthur was experimenting with guys now. If Merlin had been there, would he have kissed him? Would he ever want to? Merlin rarely let himself even imagine it, and only when he was alone pulling long strokes on his cock with his well-lubed hand.

Merlin’s chest tightened. He needed air. He got up in the middle of class and excused himself. He thought about finding Will. He wanted a cigarette, even though he didn’t smoke. He thought about going for a wank in the loo. The thought of Arthur making out with some guy was not easy to be calm about.

He hurried into the boys’ toilets at the far end of the hallway. He went barrelling into someone as he rushed in, and of course it was Mordred.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he said, his eyes shifting nervously over Mordred’s features.

“You all right?” Mordred asked, putting a hand on Merlin’s arm.

“Fine,” Merlin said, pushing past Mordred and into a stall. Of course this had to happen. Of course the one time he was determined to toss off some stress in the loo, he bumped into the one person who might even volunteer to help him with it. The person he’d as good as publicly mauled and then kicked to the curb.

He waited quietly, listening for the sound of Mordred leaving. Finally, he did, but Merlin didn’t feel up to anything anymore except finding Gwen and convincing her to help him sort out whatever was going on with Arthur, and whatever Merlin was feeling about it.

He also prayed Mordred would transfer schools somehow between this period and next, or at least by the end of the day.

 

—7—

It took some doing for Gwen to calm Merlin down, but agreeing to go with him to visit Arthur helped a lot, since he felt unequal to the task on his own now. The following Friday, they were on their way to Camelot in Gwen’s father’s car, which he’d kindly let them borrow, along with some money for petrol. That luxury helped make the trip more feasible, too, since travel expenses had been among Merlin’s many concerns.

They arrived early in the evening. Arthur had asked Merlin to text once they were close, and he was waiting in the carpark when Gwen turned into it.

“There he is,” Merlin said, rather unnecessarily.

“It’ll be fine, Merlin,” Gwen assured him, putting her hand over his. “He looks pretty excited to see you. I really wouldn’t worry.”

Merlin looked from Gwen back at Arthur, who was jogging towards the car to greet them, a wide smile on his face.

Gwen bit her lip, letting the car idle for a moment. “Here, I’ll ease your nerves a bit,” she said.

She lurched the car forward a few feet, then turned into a row of spaces further away from Arthur. His smile fell as he watched the car go, then remembered himself and jogged in the new direction. Merlin slapped the tops of his thighs with approval. “Brilliant, Gwen! Make him chase us.”

As Arthur approached, Gwen schooled her expression into one of innocence. Under her breath, she murmured, “One more?”

“Definitely.”

Arthur slowed down to let her pull into a space, which she did, only to back out of it and weave the car around to the previous row, where she faked turns into a few more spots before finally parking the car. By then she and Merlin were openly laughing, and Arthur had thrown up his hands. He only walked over to meet them this time, a disapproving but not unkind smirk on his face.

When he reached them, they were already out of the car, gathering their bags from the back seat. Arthur and Merlin nodded at each other, then Arthur shook his head and pulled Merlin into a bear hug, slapping his back loudly several times. Merlin tensed with each slap but laughed, too, loving the warmth of Arthur’s greeting.

“You must be Gwen,” Arthur said, holding out his hand to her. “I have to say, I didn’t expect you to be such a prankster.”

“Oh, it was just a bit of fun. I hope I haven’t got off on the wrong foot already,” she said, her smile so endearing it was both an apology and proof that none was needed. Merlin was proud to have made such a lovely friend, one that hadn’t been around for the “Andmerlin” years, and he felt good to be introducing her to Arthur, as if she was evidence that he was worthy of good friends on his own, that he didn’t need Arthur and was doing fine without him (even if he wasn’t sure he was).

“Not at all,” Arthur said, responding warmly to her, as Merlin knew he would. “I’m so glad you could come. We’ve got lots planned for the weekend. C’mon, I’ll help with your bags, unless you want to taunt me with those, too.”

Arthur led them up to his room, and they set their things down near his desk in his small but surprisingly tidy room. He explained the layout of the hall. Gwaine, the one who seemed to be studying for a degree in debauchery, was in the room next door. Elyan and Lance, the decent friends he’d met, were in the rooms across the hall, and the kitchen was down on the right, tea in the cupboard over the sink.

“Gwen, not to worry, my friend Mithian is on her way over, and she’s happy to have you stay at hers if you like. You’re welcome here too, of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Thank you, Arthur; that’s very thoughtful.”

“What if I want to stay at Mithian’s?” Merlin asked a bit petulantly.

Arthur looked at him and scoffed. “Not a chance, Merlin. I had them bring an extra bed in just for you. How would it look if it went unused?”

“How would they know it went unused? Are they coming by later for a headcount?”

Arthur’s brow furrowed and he shook his head, seemingly baffled by Merlin’s demeanour in general, rather than the question. Merlin watched Arthur studying him and was keenly aware of his own disadvantage on unfamiliar turf.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” Merlin finally asked, figuring forewarned was forearmed, or something like that.

“Well, lots of people are eager to meet you, so we’ll basically be holding court at the pub the whole night. I hope you’re well rested,” Arthur said, not forgetting to nod to Gwen, too.

 _“They’re here_ ,” a voice boomed in the hallway, and all of a sudden Arthur’s room was crowded with the addition of two of his friends. Introductions were made, and Gwaine, with his stylishly unkempt hair, five-o’clock shadow, and the most flattering jeans Merlin had ever seen on anyone, paid special attention to Merlin from the start.

He walked up to Merlin right away but then took a reverent step back. “Merlin, I knew you had to be a looker, but Arthur didn’t mention those cheekbones! I would’ve brought wine and roses and wooed you properly!”

“Down, Gwaine,” Arthur said, his voice sterner than was called for.

Gwaine’s theatrical flirting made Merlin smile, though. He felt welcomed, the compliments putting him at ease, and he was sure that that’s what Gwaine wanted. The man’s eyes were kind, even beneath the rakish locks of hair he kept tousling.

“I’ll expect them next time, then,” Merlin said, giving Gwaine’s hand a friendly shake.

“Ah! He’s coming back already!” Gwaine cheered, pulling Merlin into a hug. “That was much easier than you said it would be, Arthur!”

“Why, what did he say about me?” Merlin asked, keeping an arm around Gwaine’s shoulder while eyeing Arthur carefully. _A looker? Was Gwaine kidding?_

Arthur was the one to answer. “Oh, just that you were a stubborn git who liked to make my life miserable.”

“He seems to do a fair job of that himself, though, am I right, Lance?” Gwaine said, turning to the man who’d followed him in, but stayed hovering in the doorway.

Lance was taller than Gwaine, with darker features and a more serious manner. He was astonishingly good looking, Merlin couldn’t help notice, but with a shyness to him that was a blessing. If he’d been a flirt like Gwaine, the whole university would be suffering perpetual heartbreak, Merlin thought.

Lance shook his head gently, refusing to partake in the joke. Instead, he stepped forward and offered his hand. “Merlin, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please let us know if you need anything. Between us I’m sure we’ve got whatever you might’ve forgotten. You, too, Guinevere, and I’m sure Mithian will say the same.”

“Thank you, Lancelot. We will,” she said, smiling a little stupidly at him. Gwaine elbowed Merlin, and they exchanged a quick look.

“So, _Guinevere_ ,” Arthur said, drawing out the name for emphasis and studying Lance. “How do you feel about pub food?”

***

Half an hour later, they were gathered around a table ordering burgers and pints. More of Arthur’s uni friends showed up, and Merlin was glad to get a look at them all, to see them interact with Arthur and each other, but he also found himself inventing worries with each new face. He would’ve liked to have Gwen next to him to help calm his nerves, but Lance had offered her a seat next to him, and Merlin was already sat by Arthur, who had yet to say anything to him privately. He was clearly trying to show off his new friends. Merlin recognised the behaviour. He was sure he’d had that same look of pride on his face when he’d introduced Arthur to Gwen in the carpark. It didn’t feel as good to be the one who was meant to be impressed. He looked at Gwen, who was lost in conversation with Lance, and he felt even more out of place.

When Mithian and Elyan came in, they took seats between Lance and Gwaine. Mithian was lovely, polite yet quick-witted, and she seemed more mature than the rest of the group. Elyan carried himself similarly, but he said less than she did, and that made him harder for Merlin to read. One thing was for sure though—he was _very_ attractive, and as fit, if not more, than the rest of the guys, since they all played together on the footie team.

As Merlin watched him, he wondered what Elyan had thought of kissing Arthur, if he realised how rare and lucky a thing that had been. He wondered what all of Arthur’s friends had thought as they’d watched the kiss. He found it easy to imagine Gwaine’s lewd cheers and whistles, but what would someone like Mithian do with the dare unfolding in front of them? Or Lance?

He felt stupid for dwelling on it. It was probably half a second of their lives, and one that only he remembered, even though he hadn’t even been there. Picturing their kiss was much easier to do with Elyan sitting opposite him, but he was caught staring more than once by both Elyan and Gwaine. Each time it would make a blush creep further up his neck, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to Elyan’s sculpted cheekbones, deep eyes, and plush lips.

The constant thought of kissing reminded him of the heat of Mordred’s mouth, too, but he didn’t want to remember that right now. It made all kisses seem impossibly hot, and he was trying to convince himself that Arthur’s make-out with Elyan had been nothing special. How could it not have been, though?

All this dwelling on Elyan made him realise that he still hadn’t met Vivian, whom he’d worried would be a fixture at Arthur’s side. He asked Gwaine where she was. “Ancient history, as far as Arthur’s concerned,” Gwaine said. Merlin was relieved, though he hoped Arthur would tell him more about it at some point. Tonight didn’t seem likely, though. Merlin was glad Arthur was rid of her, no matter how it happened. He wondered, yet again, about Elyan, and if the kiss had finally sent her packing.

It probably should have been odd that it was easier to ask Gwaine about Vivian than Arthur, but Gwaine was the one who seemed to be looking out for him, asking if he wanted another drink, or if there was a song he wanted played on the jukebox. He even offered Merlin his chips, a gesture which had special irony, since Merlin’s own had been eaten by Gwaine a stealthy few at a time. There was no doubt he flirted with Merlin almost continually, but it felt benign to Merlin—supportive, even. He’d never felt so looked out for—not even by Arthur.

And the comparison wasn’t doing Arthur any favours tonight. He all but ignored Merlin, except to make him listen to some story or other. “Merlin—listen to Lance tell this story—he tells it the best—about the morning the janitor found Gwaine passed out in the hallway wearing nothing but his Spongebob boxers and a tank top that said ‘Orgasm Donor.’”

“I think you just told me, Arthur.”

“No, that’s not the whole story. Tell him, Lance,” Arthur’d said with an encouraging wave of his hand.

It was clear Arthur’s friends were here to help him, because Lance would go ahead and tell the story, trying to make it seem fresh despite the prelude. Merlin was both flattered by and uncomfortable with the awkwardness of these moments. He wondered what the night would be like later, when it was just the two of them in Arthur’s room, if they’d talk like they used to, if this performance would end. He hoped so, but he was nervous about it, too.

Vivian showed up briefly, but it seemed she was more intent on seeing if she could interest Lance in a drink at a separate table, claiming to need to talk to him about the Finance lecture. Lance easily made an excuse about not wanting to be rude to Arthur’s visiting friends, and he introduced her to Gwen and Merlin.

She stared at Merlin for a moment, trying to place him, perhaps, or sizing him up with clear distaste. Then she turned to Gwen, and her grimace intensified.

“Right. Well, enjoy your visit with Arthur’s little school friends. I trust they’re just here for the weekend, and then we can talk?” Vivian placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder as she spoke, angling her body so that her breasts—the perfect ones, Merlin remembered—were directly in his eyeline.

“Sure, Vivian,” he said, looking briefly up at her face, and then darting a glance at Arthur, who only watched the whole display unfold. “I’ll see you then,” Lance finally said, urging her to go.

“All right. Goodbye, all,” she said, irritation plain in her face and voice.

“Merlin,” Gwaine whispered to him, “say ‘goodbye to Vivian’!”

Merlin’s face lit up. “Goodbye to Vivian!” he called out, feeling like he’d seized one small but precious victory in the nick of time. He raised his glass to Gwaine, and they toasted, then downed the rest of their pints. Merlin turned to Arthur, whom he realised had been staring at them.

Merlin’s smile faded. “That was funny, Arthur, no?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said. “Wish I’d thought of it myself.” His face seemed troubled, and he glared at Gwaine.

“Not to worry, Princess. You would have eventually, but it’s more effective if she’s within ear shot, yeah?”

The tension between Arthur and Gwaine triggered the thought that Arthur had to have told Gwaine all about the phone call, and likely how much it had upset Merlin. Why had he told him? And had Gwaine been on Merlin’s side? He certainly seemed so, although it could just be that he liked seeing Vivian taken down a peg. Merlin couldn’t blame him for it, if it were the case.

If Arthur had told Gwaine all of those details, he must’ve talked to him about his kiss with Elyan, too. If Arthur wouldn’t open up about it, or if Merlin never got up the nerve to ask about it, maybe he could get Gwaine to tell him. Gwaine was much easier to talk to than Arthur right now, even if he seemed like Merlin’s competition to be Arthur’s best mate. He couldn’t worry about that. Besides, he liked Gwaine far too much himself, maybe more than Arthur did.

Merlin tried to keep himself from getting too drunk, and he noticed most of the people at the table did the same, with the unsurprising exception of Gwaine, who had more pints than everyone but whose behaviour was no less inhibited than before they’d left for the pub.

After a few hours, conversation seemed to drift to a natural close, and everyone got up to say their goodbyes. Lance and Elyan walked Gwen and Mithian back to Mith’s flat, and Arthur, Merlin, and Gwaine headed back to the Arthur’s building.

Despite the attention Gwaine had been paying Merlin, as soon as they were at their doors, he bid them goodnight, as if it was a given that this was where it became Arthur and Merlin time. He made a weak joke before he stepped into his room, a last attempt, perhaps, to offer levity to the pair. “Alright, Merlin,” he said, his hand on the doorknob. “If you realise in the middle of the night that those cheekbones deserve better than Arthur’s pillows, my door’s open.”

“Thanks, Gwaine,” Merlin said, smiling kindly in return. “I’ll probably just try sleeping on my back if it’s a problem.”

“Mmm,” Gwaine said. “And now I know what I’ll dream about.”

“Ignore him,” Arthur said, shoving Merlin into his room. “G’night, Gwaine.”

“Night, Princess.”

Once in Arthur’s room, Merlin stood awkwardly for a moment, but quickly directed his attention to his bag. He hoped that activity might ease him and Arthur into normalcy, so he gathered his things to get ready for bed. Arthur seemed glad of the cue and did the same, making relevant small talk. “You need anything?” “Will this blanket be alright?” “You want the window open?”

Merlin came back from the loo in a blue t-shirt and old flannel pyjamas. Arthur was already clad in thin cotton pyjamas and an old white v-neck. The sight of him like that, boyishly vulnerable in his night clothes and messy hair, yet mannishly broad and well muscled as he moved the folded bed against his own, was a lot for Merlin to take in. Here was his lifelong best friend, whom he’d seen many a time in his jammies and less, but also this Arthur, who was living this semi-adult life away from Merlin. He looked both comfortingly familiar to eyes that had missed him so much yet startlingly beautiful to eyes that weren’t used to seeing him, and certainly not like this.

Arthur seemed to notice that Merlin stopped in his tracks when he entered the room. “It’s the only place it’ll fit,” he explained, gesturing toward the bed he’d been setting up so close to his own it made a double.

Merlin glanced around the room, already knowing the wardrobe and desk left no other options. “Yeah, it’s fine. Long as you keep your smelly feet out of my face.”

“That was _one_ time, Merlin! And I still think you loved it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t bring it up so much.”

Merlin smiled at the reference to the past, and he set to work helping to secure the bed, then stretching the sheets and blanket down over his end.

Arthur tossed Merlin one of his pillows, turned off the light, then climbed over Merlin to get into his own bed. They adjusted themselves in their blankets, each flipping to change position a few times.

After a few minutes of painful silence, Arthur said, “How’s the bed?”

“Rubbish,” Merlin said without missing a beat.

They both chuckled.

“Seriously,” he went on, loving the sound of Arthur’s laughter in the dark. “It’s like lying on a pile of shoe boxes. Is it stuffed entirely with cardboard, or do you think they have to put a feather or something in it to call it a mattress?”

“I don’t think mattresses are stuffed with feathers, Merlin.”

“Well they’re not supposed to be stuffed with cardboard.”

“True,” Arthur said. “I’d offer to switch but it’s important that my back is well supported.” Merlin could hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh, is that right?” Merlin teased. “Maybe my back needs support! I’m sure it will in the morning, after a night on this thing!”

“That’s alright. We’ll take you to the health centre if that’s the case. They can lend you a back brace for the rest of the weekend.”

“Prat.” Merlin hadn’t said the word that fondly in months. He loved talking to Arthur like this, all nonsense and yet not at the same time. It felt like _them_. He felt at home for the first time since he’d arrived—since the new term had started, perhaps. This was Arthur, his Arthur, his we’ll-be-together-till-we’re-100 Arthur.

“So, Elyan,” he said, trusting to his mood. He still held his breath, though, waiting for an answer. He was glad it was dark.

“Yeah, Elyan,” Arthur said, as if that had been the weirdest lead-in to a conversation he’d ever heard.

Merlin turned his head, his eyes having adjusted enough to the dark to make out Arthur’s profile. “The kiss? The dare? I still haven’t heard that story, and Elyan is someone no one would mind snogging, I have to say.”

Arthur laughed. “Oh, are you jealous? I could dare him to kiss you tomorrow. Might be a bit transparent, though.”

“No, you jerk—I want to hear about your kiss with him. All I know is what I could piece together from a drunken email.”

“I think the email said it all: It was a dare. It was nice.”

“Well, I’m inviting you to elaborate. I met Elyan tonight. He’s quite a catch, even for a dare.”

“I see,” Arthur said, turning on his side to face Merlin. He was almost singing his words, he seemed so pleased with himself. “You think I’ve set the bar high on kissable blokes, then?”

Merlin let out a deliberate sigh. Arthur made nothing easy. “Something like that. You gonna do it again?”

“No,” Arthur said. “Elyan’s been pining for Mithian all term.”

“And that’s the reason you’re not pursuing it?”

“Pursuing it? Merlin, it was a dare, for a stupid Truth or Dare game. I also ended up having to tell that humiliating story about when my dad caught me wanking with _The Golden Girls_ on.”

“Oh, god, you didn’t!”

“I did! And that was for refusing the dare to lick Gwaine’s jeans.” Arthur shuddered at the thought, as if he’d just been challenged to it again.

“So,” Merlin said, pausing, feeling some trepidation at harping on the topic, but feeling like he hadn’t learned anything yet. “Were all the dares to put your tongue somewhere? How many people did you snog that night? And how often do you play this game?”

“God, Merlin, it was just Elyan! And it was one kiss. It’s not like I was letting everyone get some of this.”

“Oh, so you’re the treat to be had? _Elyan_ is the lucky one?” Merlin thought they both were pretty lucky, actually, but kissing Arthur had been one of his most secret fantasies—or the start of most of them—for years. He wasn’t blind, after all, even if Arthur was just his friend.

Arthur fluffed the pillow under his head, and the movement reminded Merlin to relax. “Not at all,” Arthur said. “I’m just saying I’m an excellent kisser.” His voice had resumed its hint of playful arrogance.

“Oh yeah? Well, maybe I am too,” Merlin responded, a little too defensively. He hadn’t even meant to involve himself in the topic at all, since he was supposed to be finding out what he could about Arthur’s kiss with Elyan. Somehow he needed to assert his prowess for kissing blokes, though, even if his experience was fairly limited. He was the gay one, after all.

Arthur was intrigued by the outburst, and he lifted his head, propping himself up on an elbow. “Has someone told you you’re a great kisser? Have you been holding back on me about your conquests, Merlin?”

“None of your business!” Merlin’s voice was still too petulant. He felt too young again and was glad of the dark that hid his blush, even if the rise in his voice gave him away.

“What? You can grill me all night, but I can’t ask a simple question?” Then, Arthur asked more demandingly, “Merlin, are you seeing someone?”

“No. I’m notseeing him, we just...kissed.”

“Well, that was a meaningful pause.” Arthur arranged himself in the blankets again, like a child eager for a long bedtime story.

Merlin wasn’t saying more though. He sighed and focused on not speaking, even while he tried to think of what he might want to tell Arthur about Mordred if he ever did speak.

“C’mon, Merlin! We both know you’re totally the kiss-and-tell type.”

“So are you!” he chuckled. “You sent a bloody email about it!”

“Can you blame me? It was monumental! It was my first gay kiss!”

“Monumental? A minute ago you were all ‘Elyan who?’ Now he’s your monumental first gay kiss!”

“Well, maybe it’s monumental but also not a big deal. Anyway, you were about to tell me about this non-boyfriend of yours.”

“Wait—what do you mean Elyan was your _first_ gay kiss?” Merlin worried his voice sounded hopeful.

Arthur shrugged. “Who knows what other dares I may get from this lot? Maybe I’ll send you an email next week about Lance...and then beg you not to tell Gwen about it!”

“Ha ha,” Merlin snickered. Arthur was still revealing nothing about the feel of the kiss, what it did to him—or didn’t do. Merlin needed to know if Arthur _wanted_ to kiss blokes, or if he just didn’t mind being dared to do it.

“Ha ha yourself. We’re back to you now. So you kissed this guy...?”

“Mordred.” _Great_ , Merlin thought. _Now I have to try to bring up Elyan again, plus tell him about Mordred._

“Mordred? That’s a terrible name!”

“Arthur!”

“Okay, okay. It’s a gorgeous name. I’ll give it to my first born. Now, go on!”

“Well, it was at one of Freya’s parties, and I guess he’d had a crush on me before, but I hadn’t really thought about it. Anyway, I was maybe a little drunk at this party, like whole-afternoon-drinking-a-bottle-of-whiskey drunk—”

“Oh, so this was just like my Elyan kiss!”

“No, Arthur, it was nothing like that. We were drunk, but no one dared us. We’re _gay_. We wanted to kiss each other.” There was an intensity in his voice, a challenge for Arthur to rise to, if he wanted to.

Arthur was quiet for a minute, and Merlin let the air settle, not knowing if he should keep telling him the Mordred story or wait for Arthur to say whatever he was thinking, because he was definitely thinking something.

“What?” Merlin finally said.

“Nothing. It’s just...I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. I mean, you know I don’t think being gay is just something to be played at. I just didn’t realise how flippant it sounded. I’m sorry.”

“What? It’s fine, Arthur. I know you’re not some homophobe. I just meant I snogged Mordred because it’s what I wanted to do, and it’s what he wanted to do. Drunk or not, we were into it.”

Arthur’s eyes were downcast. He wouldn’t look at Merlin, but his face seemed even closer than before. Merlin watched him, giving him time to say more.

“Well, I didn’t _not_ want to kiss Elyan,” Arthur finally said, his voice low and still unsure of itself.

Merlin was almost not breathing. The moment felt heavy with meaning all of a sudden, with importance, and it seemed far deeper than any they’d been heading towards in all the weeks since Arthur’d left. Arthur began again, his tone still apologetic. “I don’t know what I wanted. I just kissed him when they told me to. And I liked it. A lot. I was still thinking about it the next day, obviously.”

Merlin’s heart felt fuller than it had in ages. Arthur was confiding in him again, telling him things he hadn’t even figured out about himself yet. He was figuring them out with Merlin, whispering at night between their beds, like old times.

“Obviously,” Merlin said, so overcome with fondness he could kiss Arthur himself. “Well, like I said, you chose a fine looking man for your first gay kiss.”

“Does it count as gay if he was straight, too?”

Merlin huffed. “They’re just labels, Arthur. And I don’t know. Do you think a girl would be kissed differently by me than by you?”

Arthur smirked his usual amused half-grin. Merlin loved seeing it, loved that Arthur was getting comfortable again.

“Probably,” Arthur said, his smile reaching his eyes. “I think I see where you’re going with this.”

“You do? Where am I going?” _Where am I going?_

“You think I should kiss a gay bloke to really see if I’d like it.”

“Oh. Erm, if you want to, I guess. I don’t think I was heading there. I just meant all kisses are different because all people are different.”

“But you and Mordred. How nice was that kiss?”

“It was fantastic, Arthur. I told you though, I’m an excellent kisser.”

“Well, let me see.”

Arthur leaned across the threshold between their beds. He was still smiling, his lips parted, and he looked ready for a treat, like he was coming in to steal a spoonful of ice cream. It was so good-natured and playful that Merlin didn’t know what to make of it.

“‘Let you see’? You want me to make out with your pillow or something?”

“No, you idiot! Kiss me! Show me what it’s all about!”

“Now you’re being flippant, Arthur.”

“No, now you’re avoiding kissing me. Just do it! You’ll stop asking me questions about Elyan then, I bet.”

Merlin froze. Arthur was offering him the chance to live out a small but very exciting part of his deepest fantasies. Sometimes, he would imagine Arthur wanted to experiment, and Merlin would be more than willing to accommodate. It worked as a fantasy, but in reality, he knew that mere experimentation with Arthur would be both exquisite and devastating. He never let himself dwell on the idea.

What was he supposed to do now? The minute was going to pass before he even knew _how_ to kiss Arthur. Softly? Close-mouthed? Tongue eventually? If so, how much? For how long? And how on earth was he not going to lose himself in it?

Arthur’s smile fell, but he stayed close to Merlin. “It’s alright. You don’t have to. I just thought—”

“No—I’m doing it,” Merlin said, then closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Arthur’s, close-mouthed but firm, as if the pressure could imprint all he was feeling there. _I’m nervous_ and _I’ve missed you_ and _please like this_ and _please, please still be my friend afterwards_. He kept pressing his kiss onto Arthur, his eyes shutting tighter with every thought.

Arthur didn’t let them stay locked like that for long, though. After a moment, he pushed Merlin’s lips open with his own, angling his head for better access and licking into Merlin’s mouth ever so slightly. He was setting a slow rhythm of discovery, and Merlin found it easy to match the pace, teasing at Arthur’s mouth with whisper-like swipes of his tongue. He gasped when Arthur’s tongue finally curled itself around Merlin’s, leaving no more room for tentativeness. He was deeply, wetly exploring Merlin’s mouth, and Merlin might’ve stopped breathing.

Arthur sucked the kiss to its end, Merlin thought, but then pressed a trail of smaller kisses along Merlin’s lower lip, taking it gently into his mouth at short intervals, giving Merlin a chance to catch his breath.

Merlin inhaled a little shakily, his left hand fisting the sheets while he let Arthur determine their course. He was loving it all, and Arthur seemed to be, too.

Arthur raised himself up and forward, kissing deeper into Merlin’s mouth from above. It was deliberate, sensual, thorough, and Merlin finally let himself melt into it—into _all_ of it. He let one of his hands travel where it wanted (the other being awkwardly pinned between them)—into Arthur’s hair, along his chiselled jaw, across the back of his neck. He cradled Arthur’s head, willing him to sink down into him entirely. He knew he was in serious danger of getting wrecked, but he loved the feel of every lick, every time their heads shifted for new angles, all the heat between them in the darkness of Arthur’s room.

The kiss was unlike anything he’d ever felt, and his body was agreeing in ways that were hard to ignore. He bent his knees to hide his growing erection, but he couldn’t ignore the disaster he was inviting. When should they stop? How _would_ they stop? Was Arthur getting hard, too, without even a hand roaming nearby? He doubted it.

Despite Merlin’s increasing terror—maybe even because of it—he knew he wasn’t going to be the one to put an end to the kiss. He wanted this intimacy desperately but also feared its consequences in equal measure. He was overwhelmed with a sense of how vulnerable he’d made himself. If Arthur had never worried before that his best mate was in love with him, he’d definitely have a reason to now. And it wasn’t like that. Merlin wasn’t in love with him—that would be ridiculous. He just loved him, like he had his whole life, and he knew he was gorgeous. And that now, he’d snogged him.

Arthur must’ve sensed Merlin’s distraction, because he gave Merlin’s mouth one last swipe of his tongue, pressed a solid smooch on his lips, then pulled back, a senseless grin widening on his face. His lips were red and swollen, his hair dishevelled and a little sweaty. It still shown blond, though, even in the dark. He looked stupidly beautiful, Merlin thought, and it seemed appropriate. This had all been so very stupid.

“Well, I held my own for a while, anyway,” Arthur said, “before you lost interest. But yeah, Mordred was right. You’re a brilliant kisser. And why wouldn’t you be, with that great big mouth of yours? Besides, you’d just used my toothpaste, so I knew you’d taste good.”

“Prat.”

Arthur arranged himself back on his own bed, lying down and looking much more content than made sense. He still wore the same goofy smile, Merlin noted. He looked like a child about to nap amongst his favourite gifts on Christmas morning.

Content was the last thing Merlin was feeling, and that was how he knew Arthur was definitely not gay or bisexual, even if he thought kisses with blokes were nice. Kissing _was_ nice. But it also led to more if you were doing it a certain way, and Merlin was aware of the _more_ that his body craved, and of Arthur’s clearly having got all he wanted from a kiss.

Now, what he needed more than anything was for Arthur to keep thinking that Merlin had lost interest in the kiss rather than that he’d ached for even more from Arthur.

He also needed to put an end to all of those fantasies. Arthur was his friend, and gay men would be his lovers. He would have to enforce discipline on his lusting brain for the sake of his friendship and his sanity.

“Alright,” he declared, staring at the ceiling. “Now you can say what you like about kisses. And snog who you want. I’m done asking about it.”

“Wow! That bad, huh? I refuse to believe it. Anyway, I’m done kissing for a while. The Elyan thing got Vivian off my back for good, thank god, and I’m not jumping into anything else for a long time.”

“Maybe the problem is that you jump at all. Maybe you should take it easy and see what happens.”

“Is that what you’re doing with Mordred? Why he’s not your boyfriend, I mean.”

“Maybe.”

Merlin felt a pillow hit him in the face and he yelped, then laughed at the unexpected attack. Arthur hit him again with it more lightly.

“See? I told you you were smarter than me about these things, never getting yourself into horrible messes. Promise me you’ll come here next year and keep me in line. I’m an idiot on my own.”

“Won’t argue with you there.”

The pillow hit him again, but he had braced for it.

“Merlin, we joke, but I’m being serious! I need you to come here.”

“And what about what I need?”

“Well, bring whatever you need with you.”

“Is Oxford portable?”

“Ha-ha. You’ve wanted to come here longer than I have. And something tells me Gwen’s found some incentive to put Camelot at the top of her list, so you’d have her here, too.”

“You’re right there, but we’ll see. I haven’t even been accepted yet.” He turned his back to Arthur, needing to think about everything that just happened without his face being visible. “Now go to sleep! You can nag me about uni tomorrow while you show me the flat you’ve already rented for us.”

He felt the pillow hit him one more time, and the smile it brought to his face stretched from ear to ear. He was glad Arthur couldn’t see it so that he could leave it there as long as it wanted to stay.

“G’night, Arthur.”

“G’night, Merlin.”

***

In the morning, Merlin woke early. He lay for a while listening to Arthur snore, then decided he’d rather tend to his grumbling stomach than wait for the prat to wake up. If this was the same old Arthur, he could be asleep for hours yet.

Merlin went into the kitchen and started opening cupboards, wondering if he’d know which one was Arthur’s. He found one with Corn Flakes, gingersnaps, and digestives, and figured it was a safe bet. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and opened the fridge, hoping to find some milk. There was indeed some in the fridge in a container that said “ARTHUR’S—DON’T TOUCH” in large, angry letters. Merlin chuckled as he grabbed it and took off the top.

“The larger he writes it, the more we drink it,” he heard Gwaine say from the doorway.

Merlin turned to him, smiling at the comment. He saw that Gwaine was also wearing loose pyjama bottoms but had no shirt on. _Figures_ , he thought.

“Can I have some, too?” Gwaine asked, grabbing a bowl of his own (or someone’s, anyway).

“No shirt, no service,” Merlin quipped.

“My flat, my rules,” he answered, inhaling deeply to puff his chest out. Merlin giggled at the deliberate ridiculousness of the gesture at 8:30 on a Saturday in a communal kitchen.

“What happened to my gentlemanly wooing?” he asked, still chuckling over the counter.

“I didn’t know you’d consider sharing a bowl of stolen Weetabix gentlemanly. Hold on—let me go find my tuxedo t-shirt and dress for the occasion.”

Merlin took a spoon from the dish drainer and started eating his cereal, still standing against the counter.

“Is this not Arthur’s cereal?” he asked through a guilty grin.

Gwaine shrugged his and mirrored Merlin’s smile. “It could be. Let’s go ask him.”

They went back to Arthur’s room with their kitchen loot, including the coffee that Gwaine made. They sat on Merlin’s bed, meaning not to talk too loudly but failing miserably. The frequent bouts of laughter weren’t conducive to a sleeping environment either.

“Can’t you two go elsewhere?” Arthur moaned from under his pillow.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t think you wanted me to take him to my bed,” Gwaine said.

“Gwaine!” Arthur grunted. He turned around to face them, and a look of disgust replaced the grogginess right away. “Put a shirt on, you oaf!”

“Geez, since when are you two such prudes?”

“Since we’re forced to live with such an animal.”

“Oh, Arthur, you know you love my chest. Besides, I don’t want to go back to my room, and if you make me go, I’ll have to take the biscuits. We can’t possibly be parted right now.”

“You’re eating biscuits in my bed?” Arthur asked, appalled.

“It’s my bed!” Merlin said, “And I’m eating them, too. You want one?”

“Oh, this is hopeless,” Arthur moaned, then buried his head in the pillow again. Gwaine and Merlin exchanged looks, waiting to see how long it would take before Arthur gave into the offer.

“Fine! But only if there’s coffee,” he said, almost immediately.

“Oh, there is, Princess. I wouldn’t wake you up without it.”

“Good. And then we’ll call Gwen and everyone and go out for a proper breakfast, because the crumbs from your kitchen raid just aren’t going to cut it this morning.”

“Excellent idea! Merlin, I know you asked me to never wear a shirt again, but it’ll just be for a few hours, and the pancakes’ll be worth it—trust me!” Gwaine said, hopping off the bed to go get ready.

“Gwaine—you owe me biscuits!” Arthur yelled as Gwaine disappeared into the corridor

“ _Add them to my tab, Princess!_ ”

Arthur shook his head. “Alright, pour me some coffee. At least he knows how to make that well.”

“He does. But you probably won’t like it as much without milk.” Merlin said, trying to suppress a smile.

“Did you idiots finish my milk? It said “ARTHUR’S DON’T TOUCH!” in great big letters!”

“Did it say that? We hadn’t noticed.” Merlin slurped the last sip of milky coffee from his cup. “Mmm.”

Luckily, he’d swallowed before Arthur’s pillow walloped him in the side of the head.

***

The rest of the weekend felt like old times to Merlin, with no weird tension between them. Arthur seemed glued to his side and almost telepathically connected to him. They laughed at things that no one else found funny, whispered nonsense to each other, chuckling helplessly and seeing only each other. It was almost as if they were alone, no matter what the setting. Gwaine winked at Merlin once more late Saturday while they were out for drinks, clinking glasses with him and drawing out his “cheers.” Merlin looked forward to a long friendship with Gwaine, whether he ended up going to Camelot or not.

Gwen and Lance predictably spent every minute talking together, but much more politely than Merlin and Arthur did. Their smiles were never short of brilliant, though, whereas Merlin and Arthur interrupted theirs all the time to take mock offense at something or taunt or tease the other one about something. There was generally more yelling and louder laughing from them, making Lance and Gwen look all the more mature in their budding romance.

When it was time for them to leave Sunday afternoon, everyone converged in Arthur’s room. Gwaine gave Merlin a heartfelt hug goodbye as if he was an old friend that Gwaine would sorely miss. He handed him a piece of paper with his mobile and email on it and said, “Arthur’s shit at it, but I love keeping in touch. Call anytime, Merlin. I need to make sure you come back here with Gwen as often as possible.”

Gwaine also kissed Gwen’s hand very chivalrously and said, “Guinevere, you are as lovely as your name. If you ever get sick of Lance, I’ll be right here, and I think I could pull off his haircut, too, if you really prefer it.”

“Gwaine,” Arthur interrupted. “If you’re done hitting on literally everyone who’s visited, I think they need to be going.”

Arthur walked them down to the car and gave Merlin a long hug, rubbing his back instead of hitting it, and Merlin almost wanted to purr.

“Sorry, mate,” Arthur said. “It’s just really good to see you. I’ll be home for break in two weeks. Don’t make any plans that don’t have to do with me!”

“As if I have a choice!” Merlin said, his wide smile reaching his eyes.

***

“Glad we came?” Gwen asked, once they were in the car.

He turned to her, feeling like his old, happy self. “I could kiss you, Gwen, but I realise you are seriously off limits now!”

“I’d say the same, except I don’t know what you and Arthur are. It’s beyond attached to each other, really. You might need counselling.”

“He’s my best mate!”

“Please,” Gwen said. “Then I guess you’re not going to spend the rest of the drive going on and on about how great he is?”

Merlin’s face reddened, but he shoved at her shoulder fondly. Her teasing about him and Arthur was different than Will’s. It was helpful even, a relief.

“Only if you leave me any room to get a word in! I expect to hear every detail about hunky Lance and whatever he whispered in your ear last night at the pub. I’ve never seen a person blush as much as you did right then!”

—Fin—


End file.
